


a day is long, and i will be waiting for you

by glitteration



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, lots of mentioned clarke/lexa, s3 rewrite, starring the catharsis i always wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 04:31:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16381448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration
Summary: these currents pull us 'cross the bordersteady your boats, arms to shoulderset betweendemonsandjoin or die. bellamy and clarke do some crying, work some shit out, and make promises for later.





	a day is long, and i will be waiting for you

Clarke can still taste ashes on the back of her tongue when they stop to make camp for the night.

“I’ll take first watch.” Bellamy hovers hesitantly by the rover, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “The trees are too close together to spot anybody coming from the south until they’re right on top of us.”

Clarke can see him glance over at Octavia; it's an obvious invitation, but she spent the drive building her walls back up brick by icy brick. She settles in by the fire with her back to Bellamy, taking out a whetstone and going to work on her sword in pointed silence.

Sighing, Clarke rises to her feet. “I'll join you. We don't know how many more of those drones ALIE has—no one should be alone until we reach Luna. Jasper?”

“No wandering off to commune with nature by myself. Got it, chief.” He shoots her a thumbs up and a ragged smile that lacks at least half the barely leashed disgust it had the night before. “I figured I’d try and sleep.”

The awkward curve of his mouth pierces her chest, relief and heartbreak a barbed arrow she spent months and miles trying to avoid and wouldn’t return now that she’s experienced its sting. Clarke smiles back, wondering if he can see the ghosts in her smile as clearly as she does his. “Good luck on that. We’ll be back in a couple hours.”

The walk to the treeline is quiet. Falling in step with Bellamy is as natural as drawing breath. His presence helps ground her, as fragile and new as their regained peace might be. Just being with him makes her feel more like herself than she has since those first painful steps away from the gates and the consequences of her choices.

In Polis, she needed to be Wanheda. Pretending she could be proud of being the monster in Emerson’s nightmares—the killer of his child. Of _all_ the mountain’s children, condemned for the sins of their parents.

Trading human suffering for power was the price to be paid, and she paid it. Without Pike it would have worked, and deep down a small, tired part of her is grateful for that, even as everything else Pike did left Arcadia a ghost town.

Being with the people she’d been running from—being with _Bellamy_ , who struggles under the same burden she tried to outpace—helps slough some of that away, Wanheda slowly bleeding out until someday only Clarke will be left, for better or worse.

When they come to a stop she leans back against a tree, eyes on the forest around them to give Bellamy enough room to pretend she can’t see tears gathering and his frustrated attempts to blink them away. “She won't shut you out forever.”

Forgiveness is more complicated than they'd once thought it was, huddled together under a tree; it's as conditional as love is anything but, and she’d like to think where the two meet love is the stronger force for it.

“Yeah, sure, she’s gonna get over it any second now. ‘Cause you’re the expert on my sister, right?” The condescension is thick in his voice, and out of the corner of her eye she sees him watch her, waiting for an answering rise in temper and the fight he’d much rather have than talk about Octavia. When it never comes, he shifts restlessly, then finally releases a long breath. “Are you warm enough?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Humming an affirmative, Clarke keeps her focus on the trees. She's not, but all he has is his guard jacket. Better they both be slightly uncomfortable than he freeze for her sake.

She lets the silence stretch between them, feeling the words gather in Bellamy like a storm until they finally burst from his chest, powered by the bleeding edge of his fear. “You don’t know her like I do. She might really leave, Clarke.”

She doesn't debate either point about Octavia, just inclines her head in agreement. She doesn't know Octavia like he does. No one else could. "You're right, she might leave. But—Bellamy, look at me." Knocking her shoulder into his, she increases the pressure until he gives in and meets her eyes. "She loves you. She's angry and I can't promise that's going to change anytime soon, but she still loves you. She'll make her way back." Swallowing, she reaches out to grab his hand and brush the back with her own, not quite holding and not quite letting go. "I did."

“That’s different.” He works his jaw around the shape of words that don’t want to form, then stares out at the treeline, swiping angrily at the tears clinging to his lashes. “What if she doesn’t come back?” He twists his head to stare back at the faint glow of the fire. “She loved him, Clarke. She never had anybody but me and mom and she _loved_ him.” Shaking his head, Bellamy inhales wetly. “And now mom’s gone, and it’s my fault Lincoln is too. I never meant to do it, but I took everything from her. How does somebody forget that?”

“They don’t. And you just… try as hard as you can, and understand if it’s not enough to make it right.” Clarke blinks back tears of her own, thinking of the knife in her hand and an anguished scream reverberating down to her bones, reminding her she’d taken a lot more than a life. Raven found a way to forgive, but it took time alone to accept they can’t be who they were before Finn died. Maybe they’ll better, maybe they’ll be worse, but the gateway to their simpler past is firmly closed.

She wets her lips, trying to find a way to give Bellamy the same beginnings of grace time alone gave her. “I thought about this a lot. When I was gone. And I think, maybe… maybe it’s all right, if sometimes the people we hurt the most don’t let _us_ forget. If it helps us remember why we can’t be those people again.”

“Sounds like you did a lot of thinking while you were gone.” Clarke nods, and a wry smile cracks Bellamy’s strained look. “Wanna know something weird?”

“Sure.”

“I looked for you the whole time you were gone.” He shakes his head, cutting off her building protest because his urge to find her isn’t _weird_ , it’s just a mirror of the tether on her heart, calling her home even as she wandered farther away from it. “That’s not the weird part.”

“So what was it, then?”

“I never really thought I’d find you, not deep down. Everybody else thought that was it, but I just… I had to keep looking anyway. Gave me something to do, I guess.”

“Why didn’t you think you would find me?”

“I know you, Clarke. You weren’t going to be found unless you wanted to be.” Clarke’s heart lurches at the fond light in his eyes. “I figured one day you’d want to come back and I’d just wake up and see you at the gates, then you’d chew my ass out for letting you go in the first place.”

“I wanted to come home every single day. I missed you. I missed _all_ of you,” she protests, taking hold of his hand for real this time.

“I know, but then… I just couldn’t see it like that.”

“Bellamy…”

“No, let me finish, or I might not say it at all.” He inhales, lips pressed tight together, then nods in answer to a question he didn’t ask her. “I regretted letting you go, every single day. And I guess I wanted to believe you did too, wherever you were, and that you’d come back because you wanted to be with us. And you didn’t, and Roan took you and then I saw you in Polis… I took it hard. I couldn’t see past you not wanting to come home.” He stops, struggling for words, and Clarke battles the urge to break in and explain things. “But it wasn’t like that, I get it now. And if you’re still looking for forgiveness…”

Tears choke back words for a long moment. “You’ll give it to me?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay.” She blinks back salt, nodding. “Okay. On one condition.” Bellamy raises an eyebrow, and she squeezes his hand. “You take the same from me.”

Bellamy’s face twists in anguished denial. “I don’t… what I did, Clarke, it’s not the same.” He swallows, convulsively, but a few tears leak from behind his lashes and Clarke gives into the urge to use their linked hands to pull him down to the base of the tree behind them with her, backs against the bark and sides pressed tight together. “I tried not to screw it all up while you were gone. It went pretty good for a while.” His breath starts to come in telling, wet lurches. “I tried. I swear to god, Clarke, I tried so damn hard to do it right.”

“I know.” Bellamy clutches at her like a wounded child and Clarke hums useless, soothing platitudes, pushing aside might-have-beens for the moment, delicate as the first green shoots of spring. “I know. I forgive you.”

“You shouldn’t. I got my head on straight when he sentenced Kane, but I went after Indra’s army for no reason, knowing who they were. I get that now. Then Pike said shoot the wounded and I tried to convince him not to, but I—I didn’t stop them. I just watched his people gun them down.”

“I know.” Talking about Lexa still feels like scouring a wound with lye, but Clarke pushes the words out past the pain that threatens to force them down and refuse Bellamy her own confession of sins. “When Lexa wanted to leave Tondc, I did the same thing.”

He swipes at his eyes, roughly. “I’m sorry about… about what happened to her. I know you loved her.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, looking out into the dark and seeing green eyes rimmed with black and the kind of spirit she still can’t accept could ever be snuffed out. “I really did.”

“If you wanna talk about it…”

He means it; as hesitant as the offer might be and as much as he’d only been able to see Lexa as the thing keeping her from coming home until now, he means it. Somehow that makes the grief a little easier to bear, the sharp ache in her heart less tainted by shame.

“Not right now but… later, okay? When we beat this and I can slow down and let myself feel it.”

He squeezes her hand gently. The air smells like rain and pine, stinging her nostrils with each purifying breath.

“If we’re showing all our cards, I should get this off my chest, too. I’m sorry about turning you over to Pike instead of listening to you. If I’d just listened to you...” The bruises covering his face stand out in stark relief, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight. He looks like an old man and a child at once, and Clarke gives his hand a little shake when he trails off, lost in the memory. “Believe it or not, I thought I was keeping you safe. I thought I was keeping everybody safe.” His laugh is hollow. “Saw how that turned out.”

“ _Bellamy_ ,” she says reproachfully, “don’t. I get it, and I forgive you. You were doing what you thought was right.”

“And that makes it okay?” His attempt at flippancy falls flat, and he exhales shakily. “I mean it, Clarke, is that all it takes? Just… mean well, want to make something good happen, and whatever you do to get there gets a pass?”

“I didn’t say it was _okay_ , I said I understood why you did it, and I forgave you.” He gives her an uncomprehending stare, and Clarke struggles to find words for things she’s still piecing together in her head. “It’s… I don’t know anymore if there’s even a way to tell when we’ve done enough to make everything we did worth it. Maybe there _isn’t_ a way. Maybe… maybe that’s the point.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t think I do, either. Not yet.” She tightens her hand around his, a promise. “But I’ll get there. _We’ll_ get there. I’m forgiving you because I want to. Because I _care_ about you, and you’re worth forgiving.”

He makes a small, anguished sound and leans over into a clumsy hug, shoulders shaking. She holds him until the trembling stops and his breathing evens out again, and past that.

When Bellamy finally raises his head from her shoulder Clarke can’t say if he kisses her or she kisses him; between one breath and the next their lips brush and hold, chaste and comforting and _right_ , until reality sinks in beyond the simple comfort of his touch, and then it’s just as wrong as it is right.

It’s a feeling she’d had for the first time a lifetime ago, the first time she’d kissed Lexa.

Regret and relief threaten to yank her apart before Bellamy pulls away, eyes wide. “Clarke, I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t… I wasn’t going to…” He shakes his head, eyes pleading. “I wouldn’t do that. I meant it, I want to be here for you, not… _Jesus_.”

“No, Bellamy, it’s okay. I mean, it’s… not, but not because of you.”

“Because you’re still in love with Lexa.”

She nods, tears clogging her throat. “I’m sorry.”

Bellamy tightens his hand on hers, bringing her attention back to him. “ _Don’t be_ ,” he stresses, shaking his head again. “Don’t ever be sorry for loving somebody. I was pissed off at her, and with you, and… everything, for a while there, but you loved her and she loved you. That’s not something to be sorry for.”

Tears slip down her face no matter how many times she wipes them away. “I thought I was the one with the answers. When’d you get so smart?”

His laugh is shaky, but this time it’s genuine. “After the last couple weeks, I guess it was my turn at the wheel. You can take it back once we have to deal with Luna.”

“Thanks for the permission.” They’re not back to where they were, but even _pretending_ to be feels good.

“You’re welcome.” He inhales, a steadying slow rush. “Look, I didn’t mean to kiss you, but you should know. Later… when you’re ready…”

“I don’t know when it’ll be,” she interrupts. “I can’t ask…”

“You’re not asking. I’m just telling you.” He smiles, bumping his shoulder. “As long as we manage to pull this thing off, I got the time. And if we don’t, hey. Won’t matter.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Cheerful.”

“Don’t worry.” He squeezes her hand, then lets go. “I’m betting on you.”

When dawn breaks and they walk back to camp, Clarke can still feel him pressed warm against her side, each shared breath a careful stitch pulling them back together for the warmer, brighter _later_ Bellamy is so certain she can give them all.


End file.
